


give it a hand, offer it a soul

by substandardantiheroine



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 00:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16671595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/substandardantiheroine/pseuds/substandardantiheroine
Summary: (Matt, for his part, hears that wry laugh of hers and wants to give her everything. Wants her to reach in and take whatever she wants, slow, so he can feel it. From day one, like that first night. She’s fundamentally good. Not nice, necessarily, but at the core of her, there’s a pure strain of something that can’t be shaken.)





	give it a hand, offer it a soul

a. He’s different, without the mask, without the costume, the target. His cadence changes, he doesn’t...loom. She’s still thrown by how gentle his touches are. The kiss tastes like coffee (his, mostly cream and sugar), and blood (hers, surprisingly).

 

b. (Matt, for his part, hears that wry laugh of hers and wants to give her everything. Wants her to reach in and take whatever she wants, slow, so he can feel it. From day one, like that first night. She’s fundamentally good. Not nice, necessarily, but at the core of her, there’s a pure strain of something that can’t be shaken.)

c.  
“Claire,” he starts, and she tenses, expectant and prepared, “You’re kind. It’s amazing”. And it is. She’s amazing.  
“You’re good to me, I know.” And here, he brings her hand to his neck, thumb right on his windpipe.  
“But right now, I need you not to be.”  
His request isn’t unreasonable, once he’s explained it.  
More than that, it’s hot.  
\---  
For a second, she’s still, sitting on top of him, processing his request, before she starts moving her thumb in circles, tightening and testing her grip. She’s not nervous, so much as...unsettled, maybe. She just needs to acclimate.

With the first gentle squeeze, he swallows and the muscles in his neck expand and contract under her hand, and the feeling emboldens her. She tries it again, a little harder this time. He expels a breath, warm on her arm and she realizes that she wants to drag every sound she can out of him. 

“We do it your way, and there’s a chance that I crush your windpipe and kill you, and the mood along with it.” He doesn’t look bothered by the possibility, which...isn’t surprising.

“There are worse ways to go.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not stuck with the cleanup.” The casual trust is a turn-on, and maybe a responsibility she’s not ready for, but they’ve never quite learned to do things in order.

She shifts her hand so her palm is under his chin, fingers curling around his neck. “This is safer, for both of us. I’m not going to squeeze too hard, just enough to give you what you’re looking for, but I’m avoiding your jugular. Okay? You good?” She can feel his affirmative hum vibrate against her palm, and the tingle travels up her forearm. She rocks herself back, and shifts along with him, right along his thighs. 

“Claire.” He brings his hand up to her arm, skims upwards until he reaches her hand on his neck. Moves the other one from her hip to the side of her face and smiles, as about as sweet and soft you can get from him. “It’s good.” 

Right. Claire leans down to kiss him, pauses right above him, just studying his face, with the most open, delicate expression, like she could shatter him with one move. His one hand slides into her hair, the other on to the bed, loosely gripping the sheet. Their breathing syncs, and she can see the patience on his face, like he could lay here with her forever. It’s a virtue, of course he understands that. That’s when she’s ready. That’s when she closes that last bit of distance and presses her lips to his.

It’s not like their first kiss, because it can’t be; there’s no replicating that exact pressure on a bruise that’s long gone, and no aches making the tingling that much more distinct. It’s not new. This time he feels more familiar, she knows that she can press a little harder, bite hard enough for him to feel it, real tender, where blood hasn’t been drawn, but they can both taste the potential for it, crave the familiarity of it. It’s underlined their relationship thus far, each drop creating the motif. 

He’s kissing her back like he knows her, soft and slow, muffling groans that he knows she can feel in his chest, hand getting tangled in her hair, grip getting tighter, pressing her closer. She can feel the blood pumping in the cords of his neck and for a second, she can imagine what it is to be him. She’s not just feeling it, it’s like she’s hyperfocused on it, hearing it, experiencing him in surround sound.

She pauses to take a breath.

Claire can feel him getting hard, pulls back just slightly, so she can slide down to rock down on him. Matt inhales, and tenses, unintentionally tugging at her hair. He opens his mouth to apologize and she cuts him off before he can. “No, no, it’s fine, that’s good.” She says with a slow grind. He grins, bright and red, and pulls again, brings her back to him so he can kiss her again.  
“I’ve been thinking about this” he says between interrupted kisses. “You, all the time, I could imagine how you’d feel, how you’d move.” It’s true for both of them, and energy the words carry thrums in the small space between them.

This is the promise that they’re making good on, the one carried through every lingering touch, the one silently made and accepted by cool fingertips on heated bruises.

Matt flips them, slowly, hand grazing her thigh. She’s laying flat when he leans over to press kisses to her stomach, and keeps moving down. Her fingers get antsy and she grips the sheets, wondering if he’s too sensitive to want her pulling at his hair. She’s not sure how, exactly, he discerns the hesitation and what it’s about, but he reaches out anyway, clasps her hand in his and moves it to his head. He has soft hair, of course. And it’s long enough on top for her to grip, gently.

Claire slides her palm from where’s he’s placed it, down his face, until she reaches his chin, so she can tip his head up. God, that’s a face. It might be the clearest expression she’s ever seen from him. It’s hungry, tempered by tenderness. It’s good.  
“If anyone ever asks, this is one of your best angles”,  
“I’ll take your word for it”, he laughs. Claire pats his face one time before moving her hand back to its original position. 

She pushes at him a little, and that’s all the incentive he needs to go back to kissing his way down. He breathes once he gets between her legs, eyes closed on the inhale. The exhale tickles her thigh and she almost giggles, until he kisses the spot, nips her softly. Breathes in again as he slides her underwear off of her hips, and no further, fingers gripped tight around the silk. 

He just slides it to the side and teases her folds open his finger, and follows with his tongue, as her hair brushes against his perpetual stubble. She gives a quiet moan as she slings a leg over his shoulder. Breathes his name, his whole name, Matthew. (She knows him.) 

Claire’s not sure if she feels the smile, or just instinctively knows that it’s present. He only hums in response, and it sends a tremor up her spine.  
He moves slow, lavishing her there, while a finger slides slower than she ever thought he would, slightly slower than she thinks she can tolerate. “Matt.” she says, again, punctuated with a hair tug, meant to communicate...Faster? Harder? More? More. She wants more of that single minded, laser focus. She’s about to say it until-

Claire inhales sharply, and exhales a measured breath, that’s still cut off as he adds another finger, crooking them both, exactly where they need to be. Claire gasps, and the warmth radiates through her, and she can assume he feels the buck coming even before she does, doing nothing to stop it, just slides his hand under her back and strokes softly. He smiles against her, and she can imagine it, the ends of his mouth curled up, bottom lip sticking out, just on the right side of a smirk.

He pulls in, and out, keeps working her open and towards the edge. She’s so close, god, she’s so close, and she doesn’t want to stop it, but they have plans, even if he’s forgotten them.

“Matt-Matt, wait, I’m almost there, you-wait”. He does, even though he doesn’t move away. “Feels counterproductive” he says, hand curling around her side.

“Now’s definitely the right time to do this.” She regrets it in the moments where he moves from between her legs, feels the absence of a solid comfort that suddenly feels like he’s always been there, where he belonged. They don’t fully lose contact as he comes back and lays on her left, and she slips a hand in his shorts.

“God, have you been like this the whole time?” He nods as he chokes on his own breath, eyes wide when she touches him. She’s gotta keep him around this time. For all the trouble, he makes a great ego booster. “I’m getting on top of you now” she tells him, other hand on the shoulder closest to her.

He nods, and she moves to sit on his abs, just to lay one last kiss on him, deep and long, hand running through his hair. He tries, in vain, to move up to meet her, chasing her when she barely moves away. Claire bites him, in the same spot as before, and really does draw the tiniest bit of blood this time, with a drop on both of their lips. He licks it clean, and she presses her lips to his cheek, leaving a tiny smear of red behind.

His muscles jump beneath her as she leans over him to grab a condom from the drawer. She shivers as he works his mouth on her shoulder, her arm, whatever skin is available to him. He makes a hum of protest when she twists away from him to slide the condom on, and she captures his sigh when she turns back to kiss him. It's interesting, tasting herself, mixed, mingled and filtered through him.

She moves back, and agonizingly slow (for the both of them) moves herself down over his dick. He instantly bucks slightly, before either of them are ready. She places a hand on his chest and grinds down, drawing a gasp that turns into a groan from him, eyes rolling back. She wants more of that, to linger in the moment, to luxuriate in the moment that’s unhurried, to adjust to him now when she never got to before.

Claire rides him, and in a minute, they’re moving in tandem, in understanding. And, god, this is the more, this is being filled with him, nothing but nerves, skin, the need to be satisfied. She slides her hand back to its place on his neck. “Matt, fuck, are you ready?” And he nods, but it’s not enough. “I gotta hear you say it, Matty, I need to know you’re ready”. 

Matt moves his hands to her hips and grips tight, eyes closed. Stops biting his lips long enough to breathe out, “Claire, please. Please.”

Finally. She squeezes, carefully, firmly, and he makes a sharp choked off sound, bucks a little wildly. It almost makes her let go, but he unsteadily places his hand over hers. His mouth is still red, gasping. She keeps moving,takes what she needs, and loosens her grip, just a little bit. 

His eyes start to narrow, and his grip lessens. After what feels like forever, forever that they’ve spent in this bubble, he taps with a finger, and she completely releases his neck. He coughs on his own breath and her adrenaline spikes, because hell, they did that, and, it’s not like Claire had lost interest before, but she’s gained a second wind that she didn’t know she needed.

Same for Matt. He looks wild, hungry, needy, and they’re moving faster than they were before, his hands tight on her hips, hers on his shoulders. His whole body tenses and he murmurs her name, turns it into a shout halfway through. And jesus, she’s known the meaning of ecstasy, but she gains a new personal definition for it in that moment: the appreciation and elation that covers his face in that moment. 

She’s held off for so long, ready to come and she can tell he knows it’s time, from the way he focuses and his movements get more deliberate, a grin ready to bloom on his face. He’s gotta be raw by now, but it’s about her, and they keep moving until-

she finally comes. She’s slammed out of herself and it’s like there’s nothing physical, nothing but the trance of the rapture. She comes back to herself, with Matt’s hand sliding into her hair, damp with exertion. She moves off of him and lays back beside him. It’s quiet, for that moment, until she breaks it with “Jesus.”

Matt starts laughing quietly, and it gets her going too, both of them laughing like it’s an inside joke. He snorts, a little bit. She didn’t know he did that.  
Slowly, it dies down, into just the sounds of them breathing, his breaths deeper, hers faster.

“I knew you could do it” he says.”I knew I could trust you to do it, and I could show you that I know when to stop.” That’s deeply honest, and it gives her the urge to reciprocate, which shouldn’t make her feel vulnerable, considering, but it does. 

“Being trusted by you is a lot of responsibility”. It’s more of an observation than a put down. She really doesn’t intend it to set him on edge the way it does. He tenses, and she can feel the recoil before it happens. They’ve got the honesty thing down (Mostly.). She’s been told that her bluntness is a credit, a flaw, a weapon, but she can’t (won’t) change it. There are things that you don’t compromise. 

“I’m not trying to say it’s a bad thing, Matt. Just...be responsible with it.” She holds him in place with her hands on his face, before he can move away, kisses him lightly, until she thinks better of it, deepens it, lengthens it, moves a hand up his face as though she could rub the reassurance through his hair. 

“Listen to me. This was good. Great. I am nowhere near regretting it. I just...I want you to be a little gentle with yourself. Be careful.”. He relaxes again, settles, moves into her hands more. “I am.” She lets that sit for a moment. “I will.”

And, well, that’s all she asked of him.

“So, how are you explaining this one to your priest?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written sometime after s1. It was supposed to be part of one large, mostly introspective character study for Claire, made up of a bunch small scenes, some set during s1, starting with her perspective as Matt first starts getting noticed as a vigilante. I was never fully satisfied with it, and kept adding stuff, abandoning it, and re-editing until suddenly I was trying to incorporate s2, and the defenders. It got unwieldy, and it's still sitting in my Google docs as we speak. I just thought i'd salvage part of it for the people who were hoping to see claire (and claire/matt) in s3 (which I personally believe is the strongest season), or who check their ao3 feed every now and then and see that there isn't a lot going on anymore.


End file.
